Hostage Brides of the Overlords: Part 4: (Futuristic Sci Fi Erotica)

by Jill Soffalot

  He gave her a deadly glare. "It can also be useful when theorizing what will happen if you decide to fool around with the people who control your fate."

  She stared back at him. "Fuck you, Able Jones," she said, malice dripping from her words.

  "Right. Fuck me," he said with a wry smile. "I was very easy on you, Clara. I answered your questions, and I forgave your very crude comments. I told you to relax for the evening. And instead of being grateful and relaxing as I directed, you made a whore of yourself and snuck around in the dark with a drunk orderly and a little band of pirate sluts, and went off to copulate with some of those other historical rejects in the men's ward. I am very disappointed."

  The grin returned to her face. "Like I told you the other day, Able," she replied. "You're the one who made me a whore. You can't expect to turn someone into a whore and not have them act like one."

  "That may well be," he said. "I suppose we'll have to lock you up at night from now on. During the day as well, perhaps. As it is, we needed to make sure you got a good vigorous dose from the bigs last night. Hopefully their sperm make it to the mark faster than your new friend's. We certainly wouldn't want you to become pregnant with his child. It would truly be a waste of resources to have to subject you to an abortion."

  Her legs were weak. Her whole body was shaky. She felt as though she needed to hold herself together lest she fall apart, but a surge of anger gave her strength, and suddenly Clara found herself attacking, dodging around the broad desk to leap on Able Jones, grabbing him by the neck and punching his smug face. She closed her hands around his throat and squeezed, trying and trying to squeeze the life right out of him.

  First she felt the prick, a stabbing pain in her shoulder. It was a needle, followed quickly by a second in the other shoulder. Hands were all over her, pulling her off the little administrator. The strength fled from her hands, and in moments she was asleep.

  Chapter Two

  All the rooms in the women's reproductive ward were painted in soft peach or pink tones, but the room where Clara woke up was painted grey. The walls were constructed of cinder blocks, and the floor and ceiling were concrete. The door was metal, and there was no handle on the inside.

  She was lying on a hard slab. Her head felt like it was full of cobwebs. How long had she been asleep? It didn't matter. She looked around. There was a sink and a toilet with no seat. On the ceiling above was a single florescent light bulb, shining with cold white light.

  Clara lay on her back for a while with her eyes closed, waiting for the drugs to gradually work their way out of her system. When she felt straight enough to stand, she got off the bed and peed in the toilet. It was all meticulously clean. She wiped with paper from a roll on the wall, and flushed.

  Well, she told herself, sitting down on the edge of the bed, this is certainly a new twist. Better? Worse? She would have to wait and see. Maybe she would now have some time off from getting treated like a monster's jizz rag. Maybe she would have a little time for her aching vagina to heal. It had seen enough action for a while. Her pussy needed a vacation from giant cocks.

  The light bulb never turned off, so Clara was unable to mark the passing hours. She eventually lay back down on the bed. She imagined being rescued by Sean, seeing him open the door like Luke rescuing Leia. Maybe before they made their big escape he could fuck her, right there on her little prison bed. Maybe he could have a really awesome weapon, like a machine gun, or a chain saw, and he would have one for her too, and they could make their escape, smashing their way through the ranks of the littles, and even eliminating any bigs stupid enough to get in their way.

  Where would they go? The whole complex was underground. The planet's surface was, if you took Able Jones at his word, inhospitable due to toxic airborne pollution. They would have to remain underground.

  In the endless time she had on her hands, Clara ran through more and more complex iterations of her escape and revenge fantasy scenarios. She and Sean would smash the control machine of the littles, scattering them down tunnels and abandoned hallways. The two of them would reunite the normal men and women to create a new society. They would take over. They would take control of the bigs, letting them do their work in cleaning up the air through their tree-planting programs on the surface.

  Somehow, they would start over.

  After an unmeasurable time, there was a banging noise against the door followed by the scratchy sound of an unseen speaker. "Lie down on the bed," commanded the voice. "Face down. Put your hands behind your head."

  Clara got up instead, and stood before the door in defiance, ready to kick the ever-loving shit out of whoever was about to come in. She hoped it was Able Jones. She'd never been violent, ever, but now she felt ready to kill a man with her bare hands. Not just any man, though. Just him. Just Able Jones.

  "Lie down on the bed," came the repeated command. "Or you will not be fed."

  "Fuck you," she said, as loud and clear as she could. Her voice was nearly shaking with anger.

  "Last chance."

  Clara stayed in her place. "Come on in," she said.

  "Okay, you asked for it."

  She stood waiting. There was no more sound. Eventually she sat down on the bed. They'd gone. They'd gone, and she was stuck without food. Only then did she realize how hungry she was. She ate in the evening before getting nailed by the five bigs, and not since then. How long ago was that? A full day? Longer? And how long until they came around to deliver food again?

  The water from the tap seemed fine. She took a long drink, ducking her head under the tap to catch the stream in her mouth, gulping and gulping until her belly was full. Then she lay back down on the hard cot and continued playing out her violent fantasies, hoping sleep would come and take her away for a while.

  She slept, but only a little. Time stretched on painfully, always the same. Same light bulb, same grey walls. No rescue. No Sean. How much time was passing in there? She grew hungrier and hungrier, desperate. She began testing herself, asking herself when her hunger would outweigh her anger. She imagined a scale, with her anger a pile of stones on one side, her hunger on the other. If Able Jones appeared before her now, would she attack, or plead for food? If he teased her with food, would she beg for forgiveness, or try to poke out his eyes?

  No matter what happened, she hoped she would be able to maintain a shred of dignity. Or at least defiance.

  Unable to measure time, she didn't know if it was six, twelve, or twenty-four hours that passed before the next knock came, with the same instructions to lie down on the bed, face down, hands behind her head. This time she complied.

  The door unlocked, opened, deposited a tray, and then slammed shut in the space of a few seconds. Clara looked over. The tray had a thin sandwich on white bread, a small bowl of baby carrots and cherry tomatoes, and a half-liter carton of imitation milk. She rushed for it, quickly crunching up the vegetables before devouring the sandwich. It was made with a grey protein paste that had a flavor obviously attempting to imitate meat. She had always avoided it in the cafeteria line, but now she happily stuffed it down her throat, followed by the chalky white fake milk.

  She belched and suddenly felt ashamed of herself, although she wasn't sure why. She returned to her cot and lay down. This time sleep came and carried her away.

  The food trays arrived twice more, always with the same simple meal. Clara could only guess at the time separation, but she supposed it was something like eight or twelve hours. She supposed the limited food was meant to rob you of strength to resist, but not so limited that it would cause harm. After all, there was no point in keeping her alive at all if they were going to reduce her ability to conceive.

  Eventually the instruction came to lie down on the bed, and she complied as usual. This time the door opened wide. She peaked and saw there were several littles there. The first one held long spear tipped with a needle. The second held a dart gun. So did the third. One of them shouted to her. "We're going to handcuff you. Will you co
operate?"

  "What's happening?" she asked.

  "You're being transferred back to your ward."

  "I'll cooperate."

  With the two dart gun littles and the spear little keeping her covered, another little came in and handcuffed her behind the back, then applied ankle chains. "Get up," he instructed when she was manacled.

  They led her down the familiar long corridors until at last she arrived back at the ward that had been her home for the last few months. They delivered her back to her own room, removed the chains, and then left her, locking the door securely behind them.

  ***

  The next morning her door was unlocked and two orderlies entered. There was a male and a female little. The female was familiar. She'd been administering pregnancy tests to Clara since the first time she'd been fucked by a big. The male held a dart gun at his side.

  "We hope there will be no more unpleasantness," said the female, as she and Clara performed the routine swab. "You should know that there will be no more chances for you. Any more misbehaviour will result in a conclusion of your time here." She took the baton back from Clara, deposited it in the plastic tube and inspected it under the light. "Still nothing."

  "What does that mean, exactly?" Clara said, pulling up her pants. "The conclusion of my time here."

  "Interpret it as you see fit," she said. "I hope there will be no more trouble. And I would like to see a positive pregnancy test soon."

  Clara smiled weakly and gave her a thumbs-up sign. "Doing my best," she said.

  The female little packed up her testing kit and walked stiffly out. The male with the dart gun nodded to Clara. "Expect your assignment this afternoon. I suggest you continue doing your best. For your sake." Then he left as well. They left the door open. She had free run of the ward again.

  She sat on her bed for a while, thinking it over. They would kill her, she knew it. If she didn't play along, there would be no point in continuing to feed her, so they would have to kill her. Maybe they would turn her into the grey protein paste. It was the only thing that made sense. She was doomed either way: keep getting screwed by monsters and obediently have their babies, or protest and die. What a nightmare.

  Eventually she dragged herself to the cafeteria and got some food. She'd been underfed for the last few days and her energy was low. She filled her tray and sat down to eat. She didn't see the faces of any friends in the cafeteria, just some vaguely familiar faces of other girls she'd seen coming and going. No sign of Gretchen. No sign of their other two partners in crime either. Regina and Heineka, who had taken Gret and Clara along on their late night sex romp were not in the cafeteria.

  Maybe in the day room, Clara thought with dull hope. Or in their rooms.

  She ate and then went looking for Gret. Sure enough, there she was in her room. The black-haired beauty from 1950's New York City was sitting on her bed, leaning against the pillow with her knees pulled up tight to her chest, staring into space.

  "Gret? Hey, how are you?"

  Gretchen turned to look at Clara, and Clara saw the black eye that marked the other side of her face. "Oh, shit, Gret, what happened?"

  "Oh, Clara," she said, and scrambled off the bed to wrap her friend in a long, tight hug. "I thought you were gone for good."

  "I think it was close," Clara said. "They gave me a pretty stern warning, I'll say that for sure. But what about you? What the hell happened?" She held her friend's head, looking closely at the bruise on her cheek and the dark skin below her eye.

  "The bigs," Gretchen answered. "The night that you disappeared, you know, the night after our little trip, I got paired with a couple bigs that gave me a pretty rough time. They weren't gentle at all, if you know what I mean. They kind of worked me over. I figured it was some kind of warning."

  "What about the other girls? Regina and Heineka?"

  Gretchen shook her head, avoiding her friend's look. "I don't know. I haven't seen them since that night."

  Clara closed the door. "Come here," she said, and she took Gretchen by the hand, pulling her to the narrow bed. "I've been locked in a box for the past couple days. I need to hold someone."

  The two girls lay down on the bed, wrapping up in a tight embrace. They'd both been terrorized, but they found solace in each other's arms. Gentle strokes of fingers through hair, nuzzles, soft words, and the stress of their ongoing ordeals slowly melted away.

  "I'm not going to let these freaks break me," Gretchen whispered. "I'll survive this. New York doesn't make quitters."

  Clara squeezed her tightly. "I love your strength, Gret," she said. "You make me feel stronger too, and that's definitely what I need right now. I need to feel strong, because right now I feel like there's nothing left of me that these pigs haven't taken away."

  "You're still you," Gretchen said, stroking Clara's cheek. "To the very end, they can't take that away. They can fuck with us, but they can't break us. You hear me?"

  A tear ran down from Clara's eye. "I hear you."

  "Oh, kitten," Gretchen said, wiping the tear. "Come here." She gave Clara a very soft, lingering kiss on the lips.

  Clara smiled through her tears, and she returned the kiss, holding it a long time, letting her lips gently play against her friend's lips. They were both crying now, crying and smiling, as the tension broke and all of their held-in emotions poured free. They kissed and cried and laughed and smiled, holding each other and feeling free.

  "They're probably watching us right now, you know that?" Clara said. "They know everything."

  "Fuck 'em," Gretchen replied. "Why should they be bothered by this, unless they think we'll get each other pregnant. But I guess it's true what they say."

  Clara wiped away her tears. "What's that?"

  "Prison makes girls turn into dykes."

  They both laughed and kissed again. "Fuck this place," Clara said. "We're going to figure something out, you and me. We're not going to die in this fucking place. We're going to figure something out."

  Gretchen smiled and kissed her friend on the lips, and let her hand drift down Clara's side.

  ###

  End of Part 4. Continue to Part 5 now!

  About the Author

  Jill Soffalot, get it? It's Jack Soffalot, only for chicks! Prim, prissy, high school biology teacher by day, filthy kink-pusher by night... Does life get any better than this? My students would NEVER in a million years think I even have sex, much less that I know way more about it than they do. HA!

  I build DNA models upon request.

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